Of Jackets and Beaches
by timelucked
Summary: The Doctor and Rose take an interesting trip to an interesting beach.


"Here we are," the Doctor took a grand step out of the TARDIS, trainers sinking into a pillow of sand below. It crunched underfoot gratifyingly. "Planet Rexico!"

A young woman hopped down beside him, smirking coyly up at him. "-Ricofallapatorius?" Rose finished for him, cheeky eyes beaming.

He shot her a look, all puckered no-nonsense lips and arched brow. "That's _Raxaco_, and _this_," he spun around, arms stretched as wide as his grin. "_This _is the planet Rexico!"

She scoffed quietly, muttering, "Still think there should be a little more to it." Rose sniffed the air, crisp and salty; her cheeks already felt warm and chipped. She considered the area around her. "So we at a beach then?"

The Doctor graced her with the irresistible charm of his lopsided grin. "Rexico is famous for its beaches – five of them! – all black sand and teal waters," he pulled back, scratching a hand at his jaw. "Odd, though, that no one's here."

Then she was off without even a second's thought, bolting before she could hear more on the explanation of what atmospheric dust particles made the sand as ebony as night, kicking her sneakers off in a blur of motion not even taking the time to stop.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor shouted, hand cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound; she had already sprinted a great deal away, tufts of sand rising up in dark plumes where she had disturbed it.

"What d'ya think?" she yelled back, hair whipping around as she turned her head to face him, still tearing down the lot. "Gettin' in!"

The water was as perfect up close as it looked from afar, still as glass and just as transparent. Like pictures of the Caribbean she had seen passing Mcgullan's travel agency on her way to Henrik's every day, but this was real and much, much, more vast. Literally, on an entirely different planet. Rose squealed, toes dancing, as the water tentatively tasted them. They seemed to like the unique flavor enough to come back again and again, taking greater gulps with each surge.

Throwing sensibility to the calmly drifting breeze, she dived right in; the Rexicorian ocean cool and parting around her. She didn't even care that she was still in her jeans and purple button-up tee.

"_Rose_," the Doctor whined, moseying over with his hands thrust deep in his trans-dimensional pockets. "You don't even know what's in there."

"Safe enough for you to take me here, innit?" she said with her backstroke, leisurely circling in the shallows. "It's _so_ pretty!" she moaned in delight, tipping her head back to let the water drip off her blonde hair, back arched. She felt like a mermaid that was whisked away to Never Land, living out her days with a lonely traveler that sat by her water's edge, calm and cool.

_So are you and _you_ fight like a vixen, _he wanted to say but held his tongue so as not to feel that very wrath.

"What? The _Oncoming Storm_ afraid to get wet?" she teased, making the simple innocence of swimming flaunt sultry sensuality.

He hmmphed, shucking off his trench and taking a step closer. Rose's eyes widened.

"What, what," she cleared her throat, rotating her arms to keep her head above the water, the rest of her still. "What you doin'?"

His shoes were the next piece he stepped out of, arching a brow and enjoying the coolness of the water as it tickled his feet in a rippling dance that cascaded over and around the others. Taking another step deeper, he was surprised at the steep fall of the slope that had water already sloshing around his stomach. His pants and suit clung to him like a child with their mother's hand, using his arms to push closer to her.

The way the cloth stuck to him made her wish it wasn't just the water that caressed those fine, fine lines and folds.

"What's it look like?" he said, swimming in one powerful stroke until the water covered the shoulders of his jacket, close enough to her that her treading legs could very well have kicked his already abused shins. _Too many coffee tables in the library and den_, he thought.

Come to think of it, he never recalled having a den before Rose joined him – the TARDIS' attempt at generating him into a domestic man, he supposed with no doubt, scowling internally at his time and space machine. Outwardly though, he grinned, winking at her before his head abruptly plummeted below the surface.

Rose blinked, water caught on her eyelashes as she pulled a section of wet hair behind her ear. She glanced around, feet swirling beneath as she swiveled round to find him. She bit her lip, teeth worrying the puffy flesh until she felt thick cords wrap around her from behind. With a yelp, air was stolen from her lungs as she too was plunged beneath the water, screaming. Desperate bubbles encased her shouts, fighting relentlessly with the wrath of the Bad Wolf she once was (_always_ was, always to be); kicking and punching the ropelike limbs until they finally gave way. Rose used the squishy head of the thing to kick up for air, lungs crying as they expanded, taking little stock and no account of her lack and need for breath that wasn't there for her to take.

She finally burst free of the dense waters, gasping in lungfuls of delicious, sweet air, chest shrieking continuously for what took five tries to get. Panting, she whirled around in search of her missing Doctor, the one thought her light-headed, oxygen-deprived mind still registered as clear as a bell at dinner.

"Doctor!" she called croakily, gulping as the sloshing waves threatened to take her once again. "Doctor!"

There was a harsh gasp to her right, twisting around to face it. The Doctor cringed, panting and grasping at his stomach as he wheezed between coughs and splutters. She cried out again, launching herself to where he was. She wasn't but a foot away before she was jerked to a violent and lurching stop. His wheezes weren't from lack of breath, she came to find. He was _laughing_; eyes shut from the exertion it took in trying his _damndest_ to shelter his chuckles.

She reeled back, alternately smacking him upside his sopping mop and bicep with ruthless precision.

"It was _you_!" she hollered in outrage, shock spoken through her wild features. "You – you – you terrible –"she stopped her moving, her hits and whaps fading, as she stared blankly at him, her sheer indignation keeping her afloat.

He brought his shielding arms down, paddling with his feet as he calmly looked back at her.

"I could have _killed_ you," said Rose, eyes sharp and narrowed.

The Doctor coughed, bobbing with the ebb of the wave. "Looks as if you still want to," he noted with a knowing pout.

The disrupted current of the water carried her closer to the Doctor. A feral grin curved her lips. The Doctor glanced down at his shoulders curiously to find pale hands settled upon them. Raising his head, he saw a devilish glint flash in his companion's eyes, her grin shifting as her tongue positioned itself between her teeth in cheeky evil.

"Rose?" he tried to venture cautiously but was drowned out by her, "Who says I still _won't_!"

And just like that, the Doctor faced a terrifying dilemma. He was dunked even before he could voice his vehement protest, a familiar sensation gripping his body as breath was seized from it.

"Rose!" came his garbled cry, voice suffocated as the crash of waves forced its way into his startled mouth. She let him up only enough times for him to not _actually_ die, uncaring and giddy at his torturous fate as the _vile vixen_ she was.

He heard maniacal giggling before he was plunged beneath the line where the water frothed hungrily for the taste of the succulent treat of Time Lord Meat. He choked and swallowed great gulps of water where he'd rather have air, denied so viciously the very juices of sweet life.

"Revenge!" Rose howled gleefully, releasing the man completely and swimming away before his hands could find purchase on hers again, dragging her back to the same fate as before.

He erupted, thrashing about wildly, matted hair mussed sideways as he tossed his head this way and that. His acute ears heard mad splashing as Rose scurried away.

"Oh no you don't," he threatened inaudibly, propelling after her. It only took three hard strokes to get to her and he was suddenly thankful for his larger wingspan.

Rose felt warm fingers circle around her ankles and squealed, masking her laughter with frantic flails. She thrust her hand in reflex, spraying the Doctor with salty water in his spluttering face. The two then proceeded into a child's war where only water made contact and peals of laughter broke like hands on a water's' edge. Laughing, the Doctor decisively ended the feud when he pulled her squirming, wriggling form into his. Her brown eyes went large, chests pressed against each other with every heaving breath felt, three thundering hearts keeping pace with the slithering movements of the ocean around them, knocking them even closer and closer together as if it were the fates deigned of them, fabled in the fabric of the water.

The Doctor swallowed thickly, Rose's eyes drawn to the motion of his bobbing jugular, rising back with parted lips to stare at his. The moment dissipated as his hands materialized back at his sides, so quick she questioned whether they had been around her in the first place. Rose batted the moisture from her lashes, speckled with the water splashed by the Doctor's almost frantic movements, as the Doctor floated away. _Always_ drifting, forever in freefall were they. One leap forward, three time jumps back. It's how it always was. She supposed she should have found a comfort in it, at this point, at the reality and one constant in their lives, the one thing besides time that was locked and never-changing. She didn't.

The Doctor grimaced and tugged on his ear, able to speak now that he was at a safer, less heady distance. "Rose, I—"

"Oi!"

But the voice wasn't hers.

The Doctor's eyes cut to the beach – Rose's meeting his not a second later – and saw a man there, violet skinned with what looked like combed back, turquoise sprouts sprouting from atop his head. He wore a jumper and the words at the center of it seemed to sift about before settling on legible script.

"Life…guard," the Doctor mumbled the written word, head snapping back as the native stepped closer, casting shrewd, wary eyes at the water, casting more liquid onto the beach with each throw of its liquid body.

"Wha' are _you_ lot doin' out there, didn't you read the sign?"

"Sign?" the Doctor whispered, eyes fixed on the shifting tides of the water, as if it would alleviate his confusion. "What sign?"

The Rexicorian continued in a bellow. "One o' the Monty mariners' tanks blew, spillin' the cargo all over the place. So wha' the hell are you doin' in the wa'er?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed as the lifeguard tapped an impatient foot on shore.

"Monty, Monty, Monty," he repeated, searching the vast depths of his mind for where he might have once heard of such a thing, a nagging thought towards the back-center imploring him to realize the gravity of the term. Realization froze him in his thoughts, eyes wide as he jerkily turned to face his companion. "_Monty_," he repeated urgently.

Rose shook her head uncomprehendingly.

"Short for _Full Monty_ _Bacteria_. It is a chemical compound that attacks synthetic fibers, namely polyester and nylon. It _eats_ polyester."

Rose snorted, relieved that whatever it was wasn't harmful, the word _bacteria_ having set her on edge. "So?" she laughed.

"It _eats_," he pressed, putting an emphatic stress on the one verb, looking visibly shaken, the next word forced out through gritted teeth. "Polyester."

Still not understanding the extreme of their predicament, she cast him a dubious look. So what if there was a hungry chemical beastie in the water – not as if _they_ were made of its food source – well, she wasn't entirely certain if that held true of the Doctor's genetic code, seeing as she'd never really given the thought to ask about whether or not he was made of partial parachute material. But so far as she _knew_, they weren't made of polyester, but that their…

Rose followed the Doctor's stricken gaze, trained to her body, eyes flashing down to view herself, expecting faded blue and dark violet. Instead she saws scraps of clothing still clung to their bodies, more so by the crafty movement of the waves than by actual thread. Rose was down to nearly her knickers and the Doctor hadn't much time left before he was in far, far, less. Rose yipped, running so fast her feet merely skimmed the surface of the water. The polyester-toxin infested water that still continuing their work on what little left the Doctor had.

The sight of her, though – pink, yellow, and navy (were those TARDIS blue undergarments?) – streaking past was comical. The sight of her dipping down to steal his jacket, the last article of decency he had, was not. The Doctor's face fell, chasing after her in far less graceful waddles.

"Oi!" he yelled, floundering as he watched her slip into his shoes, jacket draped round her like a ramshackle shawl. "Those are mine!"

"Need 'em!" she called back unsympathetically, sprinting back up the tar-colored track of land.

The Rexicorian eyed the pair as if they'd – or he'd – gone mad. The Doctor shouted, leapt, bounded, and waded until he finally made it back onto the beach. Racing into the TARDIS where moments before he had seen Rose sidle into, leaping aboard his own ship. He flew across the sand, not caring for indecency – the water having stripped him of both suit and respect completely, bursting through the blue doors as he had the teal waters, out of breath and just as wet. Choking on his inhale, he quickly cupped two hands over himself, sliding and shuffling over to the console. He cursed his parking job – something he hardly did and remembered why he was so impartial to it – and circumstance. His brown eyes shifted uneasily and cagily as he cased the room.

Rose was thankfully nowhere in sight so the Doctor sent a silent prayer to the TARDIS in hopes that she would be kind enough to shuffle his room to the first one on the right. It would have been just his luck for the room to actually have been Rose's.

Stepping towards the door in awkward strides, cracking it open so just a sliver of light fell through, relief washed over him as he saw the foot of his midnight blue-black bedspread. Straightening up, he walked in, creeping over to the closet where he found twelve suits identical to the ruined tatters he had left behind in the ocean lined up in neat rows of six by two. His closet was the one room in the whole of the TARDIS that was not bigger on the inside – there was no reason for it; he had the expanding wardrobe tucked away elsewhere, what need would there be to have an endless clothes pantry when he only ever really needed just one of his suits. Honestly.

Unclipping a hanger, he whistled a tune as he ambled out. A cough stopped him and the image his eyes mapped out had his mouth hanging and suit falling limp from his hand.

Rose lay atop his bed, stretched leisurely with legs crossed ever so enticingly at the ankles, knees bent; her body just _begging_ to be held, to be pressed and molded against his. The jacket – _his_ jacket – was flat beneath her sprawling, lithe body; the perfect backdrop under her pale skin, accentuating the lovely hue that was hers. Somewhere along the way she had rid herself of her confining and dripping clothes, liberating herself of both bra and panties as well.

"Well endowed, aren't we, Doc-tah?" she distracted him, drawing his name out with a voice silkier than the bedspread she lounged upon. Pushing her arms back, she propped up and intentionally showcased herself to him. His mouth abruptly felt too dry and he suddenly wished to be back out in the water, drowning by water and not from sexual frustrations. "So," her hands played along her legs, drawing his eyes to ogle at the action, stealing all his strength to not gawk all over her, tight muscles moving beneath gleaming skin. "Still want your jacket back?"

The Doctor fought the jumping, twitching impulse to cover himself, at the moment, he still held some semblance of control; although he wasn't certain how long he could maintain that.

"Rose, how did you get in here?" He was surprised he could even get that out, mouth as dry and barren as it was. How he longed to have it enveloped, seized by her, to give him the kiss of life he so desperately needed in that moment.

She faltered at that, though, reclining back much easier than her plummeting spirits. "It was weird," she said. "I was running into the TARDIS and this door just opened up for me. I didn't think of course, and just ran in - saw it was yours and, _well_," she patted her hands at her sides, forcing herself to keep eye contact, but allowing room to, in the least, bite her lip in apprehensive self-consciousness.

He caught the motion, clapping a now needed hand over his rising genitalia at the all too arousing action. The worst part was that she didn't even know and continued to bite and pull on her lip. _Oh_! But he wanted to do that to her, suck on that juicy bit of tantalizing flesh, along with any other part he could get his mouth over, across, and under. The thought made him clamp his eyes shut and sigh in defeat, knowing how this would all end for him. At this, he would not so easily be the victor.

"You still haven't answered," she noted softly.

"No," he replied, inching closer. He knew he'd regret this, knew it as surely as he felt worlds tilt and spin in ever-widening revolutions. He also knew he'd never forgive himself if he didn't act upon his instinct and act upon it soon. A more _pressing_ part agreed with him on the latter. "No I haven't, but Rose," his knee now dented the mattress, crouching along the bedspread and creating more craters with every pump of his leg, gaining volume and losing distance. "It's not my jacket I want."

She fought her way past a lump in her throat, blocking the way to proper breathing and finding herself just a tad light-headed. Her hair curtained around her face as she studied him through drawn eyes. Her intent, lidded gaze followed every line appreciatively; broad shoulders to slim hips, collarbone to the creases of his abdominals, the light hairs that spanned across his chest, and finally letting her eyes rove over the parts she desperately wanted – _needed_ – to feel, to touch – to _taste_.

"Then what," she whispered, breathless as her eyes came back up to meet his, lowering from their luminous position above her. "Then what is it you want, Doctor?"

His eyes similarly grazed over her; petite shoulders, the swell of her magnificent breasts, the dive down into a flat stomach, the dip of her hips, and every rolling curve that pleaded, implored him to feel first hand the velvet silkiness of her skin – of that flesh so close it was painful _not_ to feel. He wet his lips, aching for the taste of the gorgeous morsel before him, beneath him. Ready to envelop her, have her all around him.

"I'm not afraid," he said.

"Of?" she asked, eyes glued to every facet, every feature, of his face, finding the scruff of his jaw a particular interest. She loved him rugged and was saddened most mornings when she woke to find it gone, a clean face sitting at the table greeting her for breakfast.

He nuzzled his head the junction of her neck and shoulder, tickling her cheeks with his hair. She shivered, his lips brushing against her bare shoulder - and might that have been a tongue that flicked out?

"Of the big Bad Wolf."

Her arm snaked around his neck, pulling at the roots of his hair until his forehead met hers; so old, so young – so dark with desire.

"Good," she breathed, the simple word fluttering against his lips, taking them with her own. Her lips caught his choked groan as expert fingers wrapped around him securely, leaving no room for question. No room for backing out, because if he did, he would only play to her trap, pumping him for more than he bargained for.

She moaned into his mouth as he joined in her efforts, arching into him deliciously. She gave herself up to him, wholly and surely and he wrapped an arm around her waist, knee pressing between her legs and driving her mad. She wanted more of him, _needed_ more of him, wanted to know if it wasn't only the TARDIS that felt bigger on the inside. Rose cried out as she felt the wandering, light touch of his drift lower and higher, performing a sensual waltz along her inner thigh.

She reared back gasping, suffocating on everything that was him and the headiness of the air around them; the release of their tensions and frustrations a palpable cocktail that tasted like sugar and spice, marinated in pleasure and starving desire. He panted softly, hands tracing her sides in feather light touches, heat erupting from his simple grazes and coiling knots, winding them tighter with each stroke. He applied more force with each rotation of his thumb, circling and circling and never going to the place she needed him most. A torturous dance his appendages acted out fondly, working her until her whimpers became gentle pants. She swallowed, trying to still her heavy breath.

"You gonna take your jacket, yeah?"

"Oh, Rose," his fingers flowed like water against the skin of her stomach, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her, making her loins wet with anticipation. She felt ready to burst out of her own skin, only ever truly feeling the same when she had held the vortex inside of her. "I think I'll take something else."

He captured her lips once more, savoring the taste of her – sweet like honey, salty like chips - and probing deeper, waging a fruitful war against her tongue she reciprocated jstu as vigorously. She bit his lip and sucked on it, pulling at the flesh in a talented fashion that had his charcoal eyes quivering shut; having to close them and calm his frenzied thoughts, else he'd lose it all right then. And he had plans; oh the Doctor had plans for his Rose Tyler all right. He'd had them from the very beginning, at the very start of their journey keeping flickering eyes and meaningful words locked tight away in the cell of his imprisoned mind. And now he was bursting at the seams, eager and prepared, building for just this moment little over a year. So he did it.

He took her until she screamed his name hoarse, dug his name into his back, fought with him in the same fervor he did with her – as equals and counterparts. Again and again until there was nothing left and still, he took her. Her cries were music to his ears, a harmony he joined, a chorus of moans and of ecstasy that rang in his ears. He took her in anyplace possible, the ruined mattress, the tattered closet, against the wall, atop the console – the warmth invigorating and spurring them on, the rotor creating a great prop in their forceful, enticingly wonderful game.

He licked and sucked, bit and burrowed as she did the same, curving and moving; pliable beneath him, steady above him. She raked nails down his sides, down his arms, and down his chest. She took charge, Rose Tyler did, throwing him down onto the console room grid, hopping atop him and setting to work. Her hands splayed across his chest as she settled, moaning in ecstasy as he filled her –filling her so completely it hurt, it burned, and it still wasn't enough - beginning to rock forward and back; always moving, always working above him, always rotating her hips in revolving circles to get to that edge. She would throw her head back and scream her pleasure the moment she found it, his hand gripping her hip to keep her steady, to persuade her on as he helped, joining her with grunts and thrusts of his own, lifting and drilling deeper and deeper into her.

He moved, he twisted and turned, shifted and flipped, grabbing her hips and facing her the way he wanted next, the position he wanted; as she did as well, crying out in peals of moans and proclamations. He enveloped her, held her close, until her back pressed against the line of his chest, attaining that deeper, more wonderful angle. His groans filled her ear as cheek to cheek he began again, jerking his hips in forceful shoves, plunging further and faster.

Each thrust, each movement, had her climaxing, knowing now how to do it and accustomed to what she liked – what she loved, what she would cry out to – what she would _scream_ out to. She wondered if that was really the curse of the Time Lords, making their partners come before they did, and then she was taken under again by him, his growled sentiments had her reaching round to grab at his hair, forcing his mouth slanted over hers. His arm slithered across the smoothness of her stomach, scratching down her navel and toying with her clit, rubbing furious circles into the little knob of sensitive flesh. He sucked out her cry, open-mouthed and sloppy as he gasped harshly against her thick lips. He took no care in being gentle with her; she was not so easily broken, he knew. In the day, she was as calm and light as her namesake, but here she was as ferocious as a storm – and just as brilliant.

The Doctor's movements started to slow, then picked up with much harder force. Rose gripped the holes in the floor, back dipped as she ground out her desire – the pain, the pleasure, all one, all the same, blurred lines of meaning and definition, lost on her with only the Doctor as her constant defining – deafening? – point – was seized in the power and might of the man behind her. He grit his teeth, gnashing and rumbling his gratification, sweat coursing in rivulets from his sodden hair, streaking down to his chest and to the dip of his own navel. He choked out the last of his strength, releasing wet streams inside her, hearing her through the din of hazy silence as she came with him, shaking beneath him, trembling with the mirrored tremors that raked and ravaged him.

The Doctor fell to his side, arm around her waist and bringing her down with him, pulling out of her slickly. He inhaled thick gasps as his chest rose and fell to an erratic pump. He looked as if he were being punched repeatedly, Rose equally appearing just as battered. A thin sheen of sweat coating her as well, like a protective layer against the chill, though the atmosphere around them was still heated with their mutual passions.

The Doctor tiredly grazed the arm his fingers were closest to, pinned beneath her back as she rested against his side, a comforting and cool weight that pressed against him, body and soul. He wiped away a matted tendril of hair, tucking it exhaustingly behind her ear as he simply stared down at her; flushed cheeks, moist face, full, red lips still calling out to him - like a bloody siren. She must have felt his eyes on her because hers opened, showing him the bright, glistening colors that seemed to shift before his eyes – green, hazel, coffee, toffee, mocha, black, hazel. Her groan was weary and inaudible as she cringed to face him, smiling brilliantly as she caught his face right above hers.

"Hi," she said, voice guttural from its wear and tear.

The Doctor smiled kindly, eyes grinning with him. "Hello."

"Hi," she said again, shaking her head out as she scooted to sit up, propped by her elbows again – her very misused and now bruised elbows. "Oh, said that already didn't I?"

"Yes you did."

She rolled her eyes as if she were disoriented, eyelids flickering and fluttering like butterfly wings. She was out of sorts, reeling still from what had just transpired moments before. "Did that with Jack too," she commented, voice too drained to be as light-hearted as her mind instructed and the statement detailed.

The Doctor soured slightly, rising higher on his forearm to release the building tension he felt in his shoulder. "Talking about another man straight after you've been with me – Rose Tyler, you _are_ - a_stounding_."

She pushed his shoulder and tutted him, watching as he allowed himself to flop back with her playful shove. The two were silent then, Rose staring down at the Doctor, the Doctor staring up at the TARDIS. A concern bit and nipped like a yappy dog at the heels of her increasingly coherent thoughts. She chewed her lip, turning on her side to give him uncertain and cautious eyes. There was no other way to approach this but the straightforward way, so she plundered in quickly.

"No regrets, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said after a silence, taking his eyes away from the intricate, swirling pattern of the panned, tilted roof, and placing a warm hand upon her hip in reassurance. His smile, though, provided enough on its own.

Rose allowed a watery one to form on hers. "Good."

"_Molto bene_," the Doctor purred foreignly, smacking a sharp hand against the grated flooring, shooting up to kiss her.

She grinned against his lips, her chest expanding as if she were drowning again, the air stolen from her, this time, by an almost excruciating sense of joy. She never really felt that sense of home, even at her own house back on Powell estate. It was odd, but here on the TARDIS, with the Doctor – next to the Doctor, beside the Doctor, as_tride_ the Doctor – is what felt like home to her. Blue and brown and fire and ice. That was home.

"I never did get that jacket back," he noted thoughtfully, interrupting her thoughts as he peered off down the corridor where his lonely coat lay forgotten.

Rose scoffed, blowing a stray curl of hair from before her face. "Think you got something better, though, yeah?"

He jerked his head back to her, serious lines set in his face as he contemplated her. A grin broke out on his features, spreading his cheeks wide and making him look so much younger in the carefree way of fresh youth.

"Oh yes," he whispered huskily, his flop of hair casting a shadow over his eyes, a dark heat already swirling in them. She knew that look now, and it had her legs clenching as a pathetic whimper escaped her. "Oh yes."

From that day forth, the Doctor was always prone to losing his jacket. Always prone to finding planets where Monty mariners combusted. Always sure to not tell Rose about the clothing dangers. Always glad to see that spark of knowing she disregarded as easily as he did. Always eager to go to war for it when it was stolen, engaging in battle against her for the right to that jacket. And he was _always_ _keen_ in forgetting to claim it again.

The Doctor found that his twelve suits, were now down, to three.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I always say this but, hey you guys – LEAVE A REVIEW :D I love hearing from you all, and I take the time to personalize a response tailored to each of yours. Really. I love talking to people, guess I'd be a great marketer – so drop a line. What you thought of the story. Along those lines. Constructive criticism is my favorite. ;]**

**[P.S. If there are any lone FullMetalPanic stragglers reading my story, the "Full Monty Bacteria" virus was a thing from the book/novel/show. The definition is spot-on to how they mentioned it, which is just lucky memorization on my part (i'msuchanerd) but yeah. If you don't watch/know/read about FMP...you definitely should.]  
><strong>

**Now remember folks: Keep calm and ALLONS-Y!**


End file.
